


Language Where Words Fail

by AvaRosier



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arya is an absolutely horrid little sister, F/M, therefore she's very effective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:12:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa owns a tattoo studio. Jon owns a flower shop. Naturally, they're meant to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Language Where Words Fail

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt at valar_morekinks

There! He was carrying another armful of peonies out of the shop and depositing them into an empty container on the sidewalk stand. He'd clearly conceded to the summer heat and pulled his dark, curly hair back. It was barely nine-thirty in the morning and his dark grey tee was already clinging to his torso, showing off every curve of muscle, every sinew as he worked, ipod earbuds stuck in his ears. Then he crouched down to check on his potted perennials, causing the material of his jeans to stretch alarmingly around his backside and thighs.  
  
Sansa whimpered.  
  
“You have _got_ to be kidding me.”  
  
Sansa tore her eyes away from the window and raised an eyebrow coolly at her younger sister where she sat behind the front desk, feet up on the counter.  
  
“What? And take your feet off the counter, you're making a poor impression on my customers.”  
  
“Chill out, we're not open yet. And don't ' _what_ ' me. You're staring at his ass again.” Arya made fake vomiting noises. “Hashtag barf.”  
  
“Arya! I most certainly am not.” Sansa flushed, shooting a furtive glance back out the window at the neighboring flower shop. Jon had already headed back inside. She sighed again, this time in disappointment.  
  
“You've been standing there for five minutes watching the clingy-shirt show over there, biting your lips and twirling your hair like you're already mashing up your names and fantasizing about what the Sansnow babies would look like.” Sansa released said lock of hair guiltily, turning away from the window.  
  
“I was just seeing if he was busy right now before I went over to get a fresh bunch of flowers for the front desk. And besides 'Jonsa' would be a much better portmant- _oh bloody hell_.” She mentally groaned, knowing she had just given herself away.  
  
“HA! I knew it,” Arya crowed, slapping the counter and shooting Sansa a victorious smirk.  
  
“What are you even doing here?” Sansa asked her, resigned to the humiliating conversation that was sure to follow.  
  
“School's out for the summer,” Arya shrugged before scrutinizing her sister more closely. “Plus, I don't get you. You're still Sansa but here you are, ruining my rebellious child brand. I don't know who I am anymore.”  
  
Arya was, of course, referring to the fact that Sansa had opened a tattoo studio, something that had caused her parents a great deal of concern about their eldest daughter's mental and emotional state. Catelyn had gone from teary-eyed musings about whether this was her and Ned's failure as parents to being cautiously supportive. Sansa couldn't blame them for being confused. After all, she had scarcely gotten her degree in Art History before she was scuttling a few towns over and apprenticing with one of the best tattoo artists in the city. She'd loved it and hadn't wanted to stop.  
  
It'd made sense to branch out on her own after her apprenticeship ended. In true millennial fashion, Sansa had opened what was arguably the most hipster tattoo shop in the city. It was situated smack dab in the middle of the popular restaurant and shopping district frequented by college students and her work was far from old school. The interior of the studio avoided the colors black and red, and instead was bright and airy with walls painted a tranquil mint green.  
  
Not that the color of the walls did much when her little sister was determined to pester her within an inch of her sanity.  
  
“Couldn't you have your existential crisis somewhere else? Like, maybe, Gendry's auto shop, or maybe pay Rickon in sugar to listen to your problems?” Sansa begged her sister. But Arya was implacable.  
  
“You should try not being so pathetic, you know?” Arya informed her, as if her advice was in any way helpful. “Just go over there and friggin' ask him out like it's the 21st century. Woman up.”

Sansa turned back to the window and sighed. She should. She was a grown woman who owned her own business, and it'd been way too long since she'd gotten well and truly laid. What did she have to lose? Besides her dignity and her ability to ever face her neighbor ever again. “If he rejects me, I'll have to close my studio down and move to Argentina.”  
  
She could practically hear Arya's eyes roll heavenward.  
  
“I could ask Robb for Jon's number, start ringing him up and asking if he's single...” she sing-songed, thumb hovering threateningly over her mobile.  
  
“Don't you dare!” Sansa hissed. “Fine! I'm going over there right now.”  
  
“Fi-na-lly!” Arya threw her arms up. Sansa glared at her as she grabbed her purse and stalked out of the studio. Her steps slowed as she approached the open door, wiping her sweaty palms on her black skirt. Glancing down, she reassured herself that she looked professional and put-together, even if her skirt had a slit all the way up to mid-thigh. Sansa was well aware that her long legs were one of her best assets. That and her mane of red hair.  
  
Hopefully that would be all the seductive tools she'd need.  
  
“Hello?” She called out, not seeing anyone at first. “Jon?”  
  
Sansa had known of Jon Snow for a few years now, since Robb had met him at university and the two had become fast friends. It had been something of a surprise to find the perfect building for her studio right next to the flower shop he'd opened. And, just like that, Sansa had found her days filled with his steady presence, which had led to her talking to him, getting to know him, and _noticing_ him.  
  
She'd always thought him boring and overly serious, but after seeing the way a smile would light up his face frequently when they talked, how deadpan his sarcasm could be, especially around some of his friends from the nearby motorcycle club, and how gentle his hands could be when handling flowers (which always made her imagine said hands on her body), Sansa had found herself experiencing the familiar flutters of infatuation.  
  
“Morning, Sansa.”  
  
She yelped, spinning around and losing her balance, nearly crashing into the displays in the middle of the shop. “Whoa, whoa!” Strong arms grasped her around the waist and steadied her. She was utterly relieved for all of .4 seconds before she realized this had brought her face-to-face with Jon, so close that his warm breath was drifting across her lips. Beneath her hands, she clutched the very same biceps she'd been staring so intently at earlier and they felt every bit as firm as she'd imagined they would.  
  
Realizing how close they were, Jon promptly released her, stepping back. “Sorry, I couldn't very well let you fall into the Gladiolus. They're easily trampled,” he joked.  
  
She let out a nervous chuckle, combing her fingers through her hair. “They all look easily trampled. Besides, I'm the one who should be sorry.”  
  
Every time she was in Jon's presence, she found herself acutely aware of his entire being, as if she didn't want to look away from his dark eyes but simultaneously thinking that she needed to look away before she somehow revealed every filthy, embarrassing thought she'd ever had about him.  
  
“No, don't be. I shouldn't have startled you like that. Is everything alright next door?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah everything's fine,” Sansa reassured him. “I just need to get a new bunch for the front desk.”  
  
Jon nodded, waving a hand to indicate his entire store. “Anything you like, of course.”  
  
_Me naked under you, us on top of crushed hyacinths is what I want_ , she thought.  
  
Sansa bit her lip. “Actually I thought you could put something together for me this time? You know your way around arrangements, I trust you.”  
  
Something inscrutable passed over Jon's expression, making him seem solemn yet strangely vulnerable, as if he hadn't expected her to say that. Sansa hoped that her words communicated something she didn't quite have the courage to say directly.  
  
“Sure, yeah. I can pick a few things out for you.” With that, he started to move confidently around the store, plucking a few stems here and there and bringing them over to his worktable to fix them up.

She never thought she'd find the sight of a man arranging a bouquet so erotic, but here she was, thighs rubbing together at the corded muscles in his forearms and the intensity of his focus.  
  
“I've, ah, been thinking about heading next door and having some ink done," he told her.  
  
“Really? I know I've been surprised to see a few of your friends from the M.C. In my studio,” she pointed out nonchalantly, fingering an elegant stem of gardenia. She really hadn't expected to see Tormund Giantbane, of all people, in her studio, much less inking him with one of the Gemsona from _Steven Universe_. (“ _Me oldest daughter, she loves that show_ ,” he'd told her by way of explanation.)  
  
“Have they? I did tell them you were a talented artist,” Jon said, shooting her a furtive glance out the corner of his eye. Her lips twisted in a grin.  
  
“Well, I'd be glad to use your body as a canvas.”  
  
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Sansa was half-horrified how bold that line had been, half-proud how smooth. She didn't tell him how often she'd imagined having him in one of her chairs, the hum of the needle in between her fingers, branding him with her mark for life. Her work took on a strangely erotic appeal when it came to Jon Snow, it seemed.  
  
The way the corners of Jon's eyes crinkled in amusement and pleasure had her insides turning into warm liquid.  
  
Desperate to deflect from the thick tension filling the shop, Sansa fished for a new conversation starter. “So, how do you know what flowers to put together in a bouquet?”  
  
Jon shrugged. “Well it depends. Sometimes it's more of an aesthetic thing, sometimes it's to do with the customer's preferences or the preferences of the person they're gifting the flowers to, but I like to select flowers whose meanings express certain sentiments.” He shot her a warm grin before turning his attention back to his work.  
  
Rifling around the interior of her purse, Sansa located her phone and dug it out, unlocking it and sending off a frantic text to Arya. Normally she was a stickler for grammar, but...  
  
_**SOS what do peonies mean**_  
  
_wtf_  
  
_**GOOGLE THE MEANING OF PEONIES**_  
  
“Hey...you okay?” Jon asked, reminding Sansa that she wasn't alone.  
  
“Yeah,” she lied, trying to seem like she wasn't panicking on the inside. “I left Arya in charge of the store and she's driving me nuts, the usual.”  
  
“I thought you and your sister got along better now that you were older.”  
  
“We do, but we still drive each other batty out of love.” Her phone buzzed in her hand.  
  
_im not kidding google says 'gay life' maybe hes telling u hes gay_  
  
Sansa frowned, eyeing the other flowers on the worktable. Was that white one a lily? It looked like a lily.  
  
_**What about lilies**_  
  
Fifteen seconds later, her phone vibrated again.  
  
_hes a virgin? That makes no sense robb said women love it when jon goes down on them_  
  
Sansa was sure her cheeks were beet red by now. She did _not_ need that mental picture. Actually yes, she needed that mental picture because she was every bit as pathetic as Arya had said she was. The thing was, she kept catching Jon staring at her in a certain way that made her wonder if he was actually *into* her. The fact that she couldn't be sure, she attributed to the sorry quality of boys/men she'd dated in the past. But Jon...Jon was nothing like them.  
  
_sansa_ , her phone nagged.  
  
_sansa just take ur panties off and tackle him_  
  
_ffs_  
  
Sansa groaned and flung her phone back into her purse before raising her head and flushing as she realized Jon had paused in the middle of snipping the ends off a few little green berry things and was staring at her as if she were a mystery he couldn't figure out.  
  
“Sorry,” she said for what felt like the umpteenth time. “So, why the peonies?”  
  
His hands started moving again, but slowly, as he contemplated his answer. Finally, he murmured, “you always stop to smell them whenever you come by the store.”

The revelation floored her, bringing everything into sharp focus. With blinding clarity, Sansa realized that she didn't need the skirt or the expanse of leg. She didn't need the meaning of lilies or what-have-you. Jon had just told her he was hers. And she wanted him to know she was his, too.  
  
Sansa chewed on her bottom lip for a second before she crossed the last few feet to fling her arms around his shoulders and to press her lips desperately against his. There was a clatter nearby- probably the scissors that had been in his hand- and then those arms were locking securely around her back once more.  
  
She couldn't imagine ever leaving.

 

* * *

  
  
  
Arya wandered over to the window, curious to see what was happening now that Sansa was no long responding to her texts. What she saw had her eyebrows raising so high they just about disappeared beyond her hairline. Her sister was bent back over a work table, being kissed senseless by Jon Snow.  
  
“Huh,” she grunted, surprised Sansa had managed to close the deal.  
  
Arya raised her phone and pointed the camera at the flower shop, zooming in on the window that framed Jon and Sansa inside. Hitting the shutter button, Arya then attached it to a message and sent it to her mother. Job done, she tossed her phone down on the counter and eyed the tattoo machines in the back. She'd watched Sansa work often enough, surely she could operate one herself? Imagining the horrified look on Catelyn Stark's face, followed by the amused exasperation of her father, Arya grinned and shrugged out of her jacket.  
  
_We'll see who's the rebellious child after this._


End file.
